Strange Land
by Bryher
Summary: The dead are dead, and we must concern ourselves with the living.


**Title:** Strange Land

**Rating:** M

**Summary: **The dead are dead, and we must concern ourselves with the living.

**Author's Note:** Aside from the occasional oneshots, I've not been a regular contributor to for a while now. I'm hoping that this is going to change. So I thought that I would make a return to Fanfiction by going back to where I started: King Arthur. I'm starting this off with a similar vein to my series 'Sarmatian Woman', so there will be seven ficlets focussing on each of the knights.

This first ficlet is centred on Gawain, and is set after the Battle of Badon Hill. This fic is AU, and from the POV of an OC. (Gosh, that was a lot of abbreviation for one sentence...)

The title, 'Strange Land', comes from the Clannad song of the same name- I've been having a musical revolution on my iTunes.

**Warnings:** Violence, depictions of gore, strong language and that most wonderful of things... smut.

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Safira wiped a bloodied hand over her forehead in an attempt to sweep back the sweat-soaked strands of hair that clung to her skin. The smoke from the fires blacked out the sky and thunder rolled overhead as the dead and dying lay in a tangle of limbs across the once-green grass of the battlefield. The screams of horses and men still echoed through her head as survivors called out to one another, wandering figures in the smog.

Dazedly, she stared at her sword. It was buried to the hilt across the chest of a burly Saxon. Reaching out, she pulled at the handle weakly. Blue, glassy eyes stared sightlessly from between dirty strands of blonde hair, the blood spray from his fatal wound dotted over his cheeks. Pulling herself onto her knees and trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach, Safira grasped the handle of the sword and pulled firmly. It slid from the body with a wet sound, the sudden lack of resistance toppling her over onto her backside. For a long moment, she simply sat there, legs akimbo and blade resting on the grass between them, hands wrapped around the hilt. She wasn't sure how long ago the battle had ended. It could have been days and she doubted that she would be able to find the energy to be surprised.

Bone tired and aching, Safira sheathed her bloodied sword and pushed herself up from the ground and began to limp toward the blackened walls of the fort. A man grasped at her ankle as she tried to step over him a few feet from the front gate. Looking down, Safira tried not to vomit. The man was curled around what remained of his entrails, which looped out of the torn skin of his stomach. '_Please_', the stranger whispered.

Wordlessly, Safira drew her sword and crouched down next to him. Lifting his chin in one hand, she carefully positioned the blade under his chin and met his eyes. 'Be at peace,' she murmured. The blade sliced cleanly through. Re-sheathing the weapon, she gently swept two fingers over his eyes. Straightening, she cast one last look down at the man before limping through the main gate.

Her brother's face as she made her way across the courtyard would have been comical if it weren't for the tears streaming down his face. Lifting her arms, Safira allowed the brawny arms of her twin to lift her from the floor. Burying her face in his neck, she breathed in the familiar smell and tried not to cry. Kay set her down carefully, before running his hands over her quickly in search of injury. Grasping his hands, Safira nodded. 'I'm alright.'

Kay gripped her in another vice-like hug before holding her at arm's length. 'Percival and Agravaine are dead,' he murmured, jaw clenching. 'So is Lancelot.'

The unspoken question hung between the siblings. 'He's alive,' Kay said quickly. 'I saw him with Castus.'

Safira let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Tiredness swept over her in waves, making her sway gently.

'Safira?' Kay shook her shoulder gently. 'Saff, Jols is opening up the baths.'

'You sayin' I smell?' Safira huffed, pushing back her hair. She splayed her hands out in front of her and grimaced at the amount of blood and dirt that coated them. Cleaning it off would be almost as much work as getting them that way had been in the first place.

Kay smiled weakly. 'I'm sayin' you need to go and get out of your armour and clean your wounds.'

'Scratches,' Safira replied dismissively. In truth, she didn't feel like doing anything other than consuming a stiff drink and sleeping for a week. She barely huffed when her twin reached around her and lifted her into his arms. It was only the thought of being caught asleep and being carried like a baby that kept her eyes open along the cobbled street. As they rounded the corner to the bath house, Galahad jogged toward them, face concerned.

'She's alright,' Kay called. Squirming, Safira pushed at her brother's chest. 'Put me down,' she murmured. Leaning on her brother, she wiped a tired hand over her eyes and ran her eyes over the young knight. 'You alright?' she asked.

He nodded in reply. 'We lost Lancelot,' he said miserably. Kay braced a hand against the younger man's shoulder. 'We've all lost friends today,' he said in a calm voice. 'It's the living we've got to concern ourselves with now.'

'The infirmary is packed,' Galahad said quietly. 'But the Saxons didn't breach the walls of the fort- there's food in the tavern and Jols persuaded some of the people left to stock the bath house. Arthur's orders are to rest- tomorrow we'll sort out the dead.'

'Well I'm goin' to get clean then,' Safira said with a grunt. Grasping her brother's arm for a moment she nodded wearily at Galahad and limped toward the promise of a hot bath.

The apodyterium(1) looked like a laundry room that had been invaded by sprites. Blood-caked armour and clothes lay everywhere, heaped along the benches which had been pushed back against the walls to make room for the number of people who had already passed through. Lifting one leg, Safira braced her foot against a wall alcove and began to unlace her boot. Yanking it off one handed, she began on the other, fingers working sluggishly.

It had been almost four months since she, her brother and the others had met the Sarmatians stationed at Vercovicium. After the death of Octavian Primus, the small group left at Segedunum had been sent to the command of Arthur Castus. Seating herself on a heaped bench, Safira stretched out her legs and began on the greave ties on her calves. The journey to Vercovicium had been a quiet one. They had heard about Arthur Castus and his Sarmatians. If the stories were true, there would be little to expect of their kinsmen- only shells of men with a thirst only for violence and death.

The greaves clattered to the floor. Leaning back against the wall, Safira closed her eyes with a yawn. The memory of their arrival played across her closed lids. Sheeting rain had driven them to ride long into the night, and it was almost dawn when they had arrived at the hulking fortress. Torches hissed in the downpour as a burly Roman named Quintus had gruffly waved them into the stables and told them to bed down with their horses until the next day instead of showing them to the barracks. Safira grinned as she remembered the curious blue eyes and gentle voice of the knight who had awoken her the next morning.

Levering herself off the bench, Safira worked her fingers over the clasps at the joins of her breastplate. Lifting her breastplate over her head, Safira winced and pressed her hand to her ribs.

Without warning, a warm hand covered hers.

Safira struck out with her elbow and twisted, ignoring the scream of muscles in her side. Her arm impacted with a _whooof _from her attacker. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into a hard body. Leaning back, she swung a curled fist up- and froze. 'Gawain?' she snapped.

The blonde knight lifted her chin with a rough hand and kissed her swiftly. Safira gripped the front of his jerkin and pushed him back. 'You scared me shitless!' she yelled. 'Don' you ever do that again you bloody hayseed!'

Then she pulled him toward her and claimed his lips, fingers curled in his mane of damp hair. Gawain responded by sliding his big hands down her backside and hoisting her up, sliding a hand down her thigh to wrap one leg around his waist. Safira grinned against his mouth and wrapped the other leg around him, locking her ankles over the small of his back. He shifted a couple of steps, pressing her against the wall of the apodyterium. Wriggling against him, Safira groaned quietly as she pressed against the bulge in his breeches. Pulling back, she grinned at him. 'You didn't die then?' she asked gently, touching her nose to his.

'Apparently not,' the big knight replied with a touch of pique. 'You thought I wouldn't make it?'

Safira shrugged. 'I've learned not to think anything before a battle anymore,' she whispered, gently kissing his lower lip. Unwinding her legs, she wriggled out of his grasp with a wince. Gawain frowned, running his hands over her torso- lifting his hand placatingly when she hissed as he prodded her side.

'What happened?'

Safira tugged at the greaves on her arms, letting them drop to the floor. 'I got hit by a bloody big bastard with a club,' she growled. She plucked at the laces at the top of her shirt then glanced at Gawain. He stepped toward her and grasped the bottom of her hem. Lifting her arms, Safira closed her eyes as the shirt was drawn up and over her head. Warm hands caressed her aching ribs, followed by the gentle path of Gawain's lips. She let her hands rest on his shoulders, smiling lazily as his hands went to the ties on her breeches. Feeling the blood-damp material slide down her legs, she stepped out of them and opened her eyes. 'I should bathe,' she murmured as Gawain straightened up. Clad in only her loincloth and breastband, her skin was stained red and brown with dirt, blood and sweat. Bruises bloomed over her side and a long, shallow cut from the top of her left thigh to her knee had begun to crust with scabs. Gawain paused for only a moment before pulling his own shirt off and stripping out of his breeches.

'Haven't you already been in?' Safira asked with an amused smirk. She grabbed her sword from the bench before proceeding through the doorway to the caldarium.

'Haven't you finished fighting?' Gawain countered, following her into the steam-filled room. Safira stepped swiftly behind a pillar and silently drew her sword. 'Safira?' Gawain called, stepping forward. She stepped out behind him, pressing the blade to the small of his back. Stepping in close, she murmured into his ear. 'I'll never be finished fighting- especially not after the shit you pulled back there.'

Gawain turned until he faced her, the sword pressing gently against the muscles of his abdomen. Safira let the blade drop and slid it back into the scabbard, which she placed onto the raised stone rim of the pool. 'I'll leave my armour in there,' she explained with a nod back to the apodyterium. 'But I won't be unarmed.' Stepping into the baths, she winced as the hot water surged up and over her knees, washing into the wound on her leg. Gawain stepped in behind her and pulled her back to him, sinking them both down into the water with her back to his chest. The silence of the building made the echoes of the water lapping against the side echo around the walls.

Leaning her head back against Gawain's chest, Safira slid her hands under the water until they rested on the knight's thighs. Feeling him take a deep breath behind her, she traced lazy circles over his skin. She closed her eyes as she felt Gawain's hands slide over her stomach and up over her breasts, tugging away the breastband and returning to gently tease her nipples into peaks.

Safira let her head drop forward as his lips began to work along her neck. 'When I couldn't find you,' he murmured between kisses, 'I thought you were dead.' Safira paused in her ministrations.

Shifting herself, she twisted around until she sat on his lap facing him. Placing her hands on his chest she leant forward and studied his face. Gawain's eyes never wavered from hers, as she stared at him. Safira leant back after a moment, then rethought her movement and kissed him. 'I am here,' she whispered against his mouth. Sliding her hands down his chest, she tugged his loincloth off and threw the material over his shoulder and onto the floor. 'And I 'aint goin' anywhere.'

Pulling her own loincloth off and allowing it to drift away, she wriggled forward until Gawain groaned, his manhood pressed intimately against her. Dropping his head to her shoulder, the blonde knight slid his hands under her and lifted her up and onto his length. Safira gasped at the feel of him, hot and hard within her before gripping his shoulders and rolling her hips, ignoring the pain in her side. Water splashed up the sides of the pool as Gawain claimed her lips with his mouth and gathered her into his arms, thrusting hard.

Safira cried out, finding her release quickly. She felt her knight tense as she came, spots dancing in front of her eyes and then his own guttural cry as he pounded into her and held her tightly against him. Shuddering, Safira wound her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, not quite willing to pull away just yet.

'You do realise that this means you're mine,' Gawain said in a conversational tone after a long silence. He traced circles on her back with broad hands, mindful of her bruises. 'Mmm,' Safira affirmed sleepily. 'But no more than you belong to me too,' she added. 'I 'aint cleaning up after you, neither.'

'Isn't that what wives are supposed to do?' Gawain murmured with a laugh. He pressed a kiss to her temple as she gently nipped the skin at his neck.

'We ent married,' she replied with a yawn.

'Will you marry me?'

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Please review- it's been a while and I need to know what I need to improve on!

(1) Changing room.


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